Frozen
by Sensue
Summary: It was agony; the worst pain he'd experienced in his life. Season One. Warnings: Bad Language. This is a true story.


Author's Note: This is a completely TRUE story. The names have been changed to protect the innocent. Please note that the medical advice in this story, while accurate, may not be used to diagnose or treat real life disease without the consultation of a doctor. (Thank you.)

This is canon, by the way. I did my best to keep Sam and Dean in character. Review and tell me how I did. Story is set in the first season.

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**Frozen**

"Sam..." His name was practically whispered; similar to the way Jess did in his dreams, the voice filled with pain and shock. The fact that it was his brother calling out to him made him wake with sudden panic. Sam was out of his bed and onto Dean's without knowing how his feet touched the floor, his mind reacting entirely on instinct and training. A knife was gripped in his hand; the same one he'd kept under his pillow-- he'd made fun of Dean keeping one under his, but never stopped doing the same.

There was nothing in the motel room; it was as empty and safe as it had been when they both had decided to crash for the night. There was no reason for Dean to by lying on the bed, his body tense, breath coming out in gasps, and tears (actual tears) to be sliding down his face. Pure unadulterated fear flooded through the younger man, as he just as quietly whispered his brother's name. "Dean? What's going on?"

Dean's breath hitched in his throat, "Sammy..." he gasped, "I can't move, man."

There weren't words to describe what Sam was thinking; the panic he felt earlier only quadrupled. He felt frozen... he didn't know what to do. It took a few moments for Sam to realize that while Dean was saying that he couldn't move, his older brother's jerky autonomic movements contradicted his statement. Dean's hands were trembling and his legs twitched as he started hyperventilating.

Quickly, Sam pulled the covers off his body the urgent need to make sure there wasn't any hidden damage that Dean had managed to mask from the hunt the night before. "Dean, were you hurt yesterday? I'm serious, Dean! Tell me right now." He knew his brother's tendency to keep his injuries a secret-- usually their Dad could spot it in an instant, while Sam was kept in the dark until Dean slipped up: a grimace or groan that he was unable to hide.

His brother's face was turning a ghostly white as Sam explored his body thoroughly with his hands, "No, Sammy. I was fine..." He groaned loudly, and then started panting in agony.

Sam kept a hand on his brother's shoulder until the wave of pain passed. He felt the thundering heartbeat under his hand, Dean's back arched and it was then that Sam felt the spasms of his muscles as they contracted involuntarily.

"Shit." Sam swore under his breath as he watched Dean's trembling worsen. "Ok. Let's get you up."

"I can't, Sammy. Hurts--" Dean's hands were shaking. "Man, I can hardly lift my arms. What the hell's wrong with me?"

"It looks like a muscle spasm, Dean." Sam explained gently.

"Fuck--this hurts like a mother. There's no way it's just a spasm." Dean grunted before gritting his teeth hard enough to break them. He was still lying flat on the mattress, truly unable to lift himself up. "I can't get up, Sammy."

"Let me help you." Sam encouraged, he slipped his arms under his brother's neck and shoulders to lever him up. Once he was sitting up, he lifted his legs over the edge of the bed. "Okay, man. Can you get your arms up, so I can get this shirt off you?" He wanted to take a closer look at his brother's neck, he could already feel the inflammation under his fingertips and hoped the sprain wasn't as bad as he suspected.

Dean forced himself to try but could only lift his arms to his mid-chest before being forced to stop; Sam also noticed the fact that his brother seemingly couldn't move his neck either. "Can you move your head around?"

With a glare, Dean shouted, "Does it fucking look like I can!? I can't move, Sam!" Sam ignored the spit that flew from his lips as it landed on his face; saliva was dribbling from the corners of his mouth. Sam bit his lip to keep from yelling back at the obviously pain fueled aggression.

"Alright. Then, I'll just cut off your shirt." Sam huffed, walking away to find a pair of scissors in his bag. The silence spoke as Sam gently cut the shirt in two, pulling his arms out of the sleeves without a single complaint from his older brother. The fact that it was one of his favorites didn't seem to matter at that point.

Once Dean was shirtless, he pulled him to his feet, happily noting while Dean was standing stiffly holding his arms against his chest, he was actually standing. Stepping behind him, Sam gently placed his fingertips against the trapezius muscle of his neck and shoulders.

"Ahh," Dean tried to muffle a scream, but was unsuccessful. He pulled away, trying to move the hands that were holding him, but couldn't.

"Sorry, Dean. Just...hold still a second." Sam palpated the area, "The pain's shooting down your arms, right? Both of them?"

"Yeah," Dean grunted. "My fingers are tingling."

"Well, I'm pretty sure that the inflammation has pinched a nerve." Sam took in a deep breath. "You're going to be out for a while, man. I'm guessing a week, maybe two."

"No way, man." Dean argued. "I can't sit around, not moving for a week!"

Sam rolled his eyes, "Yeah, Dean. You can-- considering you can't move right now! I just wish that you would listen to me sometimes, Dean. How many times have I suggested that we buy pillows and keep them in the back of the car? These damn motel room pillows don't support your neck! But, no, 'Sammy, we don't have the room for a bunch of sissy pillows! We need to make room for more ammo.' Now, do you wish you would've listened?"

Dean spit again, "It wasn't because of the pillows, you moron! It was probably the hunt yesterday..." He tried to keep up with his little brother's motion, but couldn't. He had to focus on holding his head in his hands--otherwise, he was sure it would just fall off.

"You mean the salt and burn? As I recall, all _you_ did was light the match, while I was digging the remains out of a 6 foot deep coffin!" Sam refused to bow down. He hated it when his brother's stubborn attitude got him hurt.

"Hey! I did my job! I was watching your back!" Dean groaned. "Fuck. Sam, just-- stop, okay? I don't want to argue. Just-- You were right, okay? Just... help me."

Dean asking for help while he was ranting about being 'right' made Sam feel like an ass. Guilt ate at him, as he nodded and helped Dean to the bathroom. "I think that a hot shower will help. When you're done, we'll use an ice pack for twenty minute. R.I.C.E. treatment will probably work the best."

His older brother squinted at him, "Rest, Ice/Ibuprofen, Compress, and..." The pain was making it hard for him to concentrate.

"Elevation, Dean."

"Yeah, I remember. This happened to Dad once, didn't it?" Dean had a pinched look on his face as he stepped into the bathroom, assisted by his brother.

Sam started the shower, then knelt on the floor to help his brother with his pants. "Yeah, except, I think that Dad had a bad case of whip-lash after he crashed that SUV into that hallowed tree in Forks." Sam smiled at the memory, "I remember that we used to make him breakfast in bed... he'd be forced to eat whatever we made him. It was like revenge for all of the years of SpaghettiO's that we had to eat when he was away on his hunts. I think he finally realized how horrible canned spaghetti really is."

Dean smiled back half-heartedly, "He never bought us another can again." While they both talked, Sam guided Dean into the tub; he had to lift him to get him in there without moving his head around.

"You okay in there? You balanced?" Sam asked him, as he adjusted the temperature of the tap.

Dean nodded once, before quickly aborting the gesture with a muted scream into his fist. "Shit."

Sam grimaced sympathetically, "Don't do that, man. Just try to relax into the spray. Get it as hot as you can stand. I'm going to rearrange the room. I assume you don't want to go back to sleep, right? You wanna watch TV?" It was assumed that he wouldn't want to sleep after 10am.

"Yeah. Sammy," Dean gasped, "Thanks."

Sam shook his head. "No problem, Dean." With that he left the bathroom to move the furniture that wasn't bolted down to the floor out of the way and moved the disgusting looking couch in front of the TV. He pulled off the sheets from his bed and covered the couch so that the stains weren't visible. He threw the pillows he'd used the night before on either side of the couch, hoping it would be enough to support his brother.

It was thankful that they had just finished their last job; they hadn't had a chance to find a new one yet, so the down time was comforting. At least they didn't need to rush off in a case of life or death, while Dean was in so much pain. If someone was in trouble, Sam didn't think it would matter how much pain his brother was in--they would have to go to help them.

A shopping trip was in order, as was booking the motel room for at least another week or two. Sam was betting on the two, he knew Dean was betting on the one, but with the way his neck muscles bulged out and the red hot inflammation of his shoulders, he knew that he would unfortunately win the bet.

He walked back into the bathroom, watching Dean grip the corner of the wall as he blindly lifted his foot to get out of the tub without moving his head. His face was pale when he finally climbed out. "You feel any better?" Sam asked him hopefully.

"No." Dean shuffled across the bathroom like an old man. He had his arms wrapped around his belly and his chin was pressed against his chest, unable to hold it up. Sam walked over to him and gently cupped his face. Ducking down, he tried to make eye contact.

"Can you lift your head, if I help you?" Sam gently tried to lift his face with his hands, but stopped at the first sign of discomfort. "I guess not, then. Alright, I'll help you get dressed. We'll stop by the pharmacy and get some ibuprofen, ice packs; I have that script pad we stole from Dr. Ellicott Jr.'s office... some muscle relaxants wouldn't hurt either."

"Great idea, Sammy. Drugs are good." Dean panted as he was guided into the bedroom. Sam helped get his pants over his legs and dressed him in a button-down shirt that would be easy to remove later on.

"Okay. Let's go." He took the keys out from Dean's leather jacket then walked arm-in-arm with his brother to the car. It took some struggling to get his older brother situated in the Impala, but finally they were ready to go. Sam put the keys in the car and relaxed into the worn seats as the familiar rumble soothed his nerves. It wasn't something new--he'd been raised in that car; it was home.

As he moved to put the car in gear, the sound Dean's cries stopped him. He was shocked to see Dean crying; his brother was actually crying. "Sammy, stop the car! Please!" Dean's voice was haggard, his body as tight as a bow's string ready to spring.

It didn't take another nanosecond for him to follow the order. The key was turned and the ignition stopped. Fear rushed through Sam; his hand was on his cell phone, ready to call 911. "What's wrong, Dean?"

Dean's body was twitching with suppressed aguish. "The car -- the vibrations were making me move."

Sam blinked, "The car's vibration? Dean," Sam ran his hand through his hair, "I think you should go to a hospital... there maybe something else wrong."

"No, Sam. Just--leave me at the motel and get the supplies. We know what this is...if I don't get better in a couple of days, then we'll go. Okay?" Dean was pleading with his brother, trying to get a hold of himself.

"At least a chiropractor, man..." Sam begged, hating to see his brother like this.

"I can't right now. I can't ride in the car-- I think it'll kill me, man. Just--hurry up and go." Dean pulled at the door handle, the latch was unlocked, but he was unable to push the door open so he could get out without straining his shoulder. "Get the door for me, would 'ya?"

Sam closed his eyes, muttering under his breath at his brother's pig-headedness but did as he was told. He led his brother back to the room and onto the couch, placing the pillows under his arms to keep the pull from straining his shoulders. The remote was placed on his lap, where he could reach it. "Alright... I'll be back."

Dean rolled his eyes, "Whatever you say, Arh-nold." With his hand he gave a small wave, the only movement his body would allow him to make. "Just--hurry."

Before leaving, Sam went over to the motel's ice machine and filled up a bag. He wrapped it up in a towel, then pressed it against his neck. "Keep it on for twenty minute; only twenty, Dean--or you'll be feeling it later." Sam warned him; they both knew that if the ice was kept on there longer, it would only increase the inflammation. The combination of heat, then cold would help only in moderation.

"Whatever!" Dean mumbled, flipping through the channels thoughtlessly. He tried to find something to take his mind off the pain, and was unable to: hence, flipping the channels.

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If Dean could pace, he would. Sam was gone for an hour. An Hour! Unfortunately, his cell phone was in his duffle bag and that was on the floor ten feet away in the closet. There was no way in hell he could reach it. He couldn't even lift his head. He wanted to cry, but kept himself from the act by biting his lip. "God, I'm such an idiot. Fuck'n moron. Crybaby." He swore.

The TV was unwatchable. There was nothing on--nothing he could focus on. Pressing the buttons on the remote was painful: his tingling fingers felt numb at times, forcing him to press harder than he was able to in order to change the channels. He tossed the remote to the side, making sure it was still within arms reach if he changed his mind, but abandoned the television set.

"Sammy, where the hell are you?" He asked aloud.

He hoped that his brother was alright, because if he wasn't he'd kill him. Sam must know how much pain he was in-- it didn't take that long pick up a bunch of pills!

Just when he was about to try to drag himself off the couch, he heard the door open. Due to his inability to turn his head, he could only pray that it was Sam.

"Hey, Dean." Sam called out. The sound plastic bags being thrown on the table as they crinkled proved Sam's mission successful.

The last hour of waiting, pain, and frustration were vented at the younger man. "Where the hell were you? I was freaking out, Sam! You were gone an f-ing hour!"

Sam walked over, kneeling in front of him. "Sorry, man. You'll laugh, but there really was a huge line. I had to cut in front of an old lady who had like twenty prescriptions and couldn't remember what any of them did. The pharmacist explained it to her three times before he just wrote it all down." He pulled out several bottles, twisting the childproof caps and let the pills spill into his cupped hand. "Take these. Hopefully, in twenty minutes, you'll be feeling no pain." He gave his brother a slight smile, patting his knees before getting up to pull out the other supplies that he'd purchased.

The ice pack he'd placed on Dean's neck was melting on the couch, the towel damp from the condensation. He put it into the small freezer and went back to the table. "I bought you a couple of new pillows. This one is a memory foam-- it's contoured to hold your neck, so it'll probably help tonight. If you don't like that one, I have a couple of others." He pulled out a blue tub, as he uncapped it and explained, "I have icy-hot too. The pharmacist told me this horror story of someone using too much of it and actually dying-- so, I had to promise we'd only use it up to four times a day."

Smearing the blue goop onto his fingers, Sam attempted to rub the smelly medicine on his brother's shoulders. Dean quickly put an end to that; even his gentle touch was torture at this particular moment.

Sam felt helpless. There was nothing he could do, but pray that the medicine kicked in quickly and Dean got doped up. He sat down on the table and pulled out his computer. He went to the webMD site and tried to find other solutions. Unfortunately, there weren't any that didn't involve dragging his pain-in-the-ass brother to a doctor.

Time flew by, and soon, Dean was loopy. Sam laughed to himself as Dean told him funny stories of their childhood, muttering how much he loved his little brother. He could tell that Dean was still in pain-- he could see how he held himself that he was still trying not to move. He let him stay up another hour before practically carrying him back into bed. He tested the new contour pillow, making sure that Dean's head was supported. The cushion was too high, so he switched it out to one of the firm ones he'd purchased. It was a little lower, but wasn't too low to cause his neck to arch. Dean grabbed his arm in order to lever himself onto his side, more comfortable in that position. "I got you a body pillow too." He went over to the large bag and pulled out the multi-colored rainbow pillow. "By the way, pregnant women swear by these things. I spent five minutes trying to get away from the aisle after this pregnant woman started telling me about how her husband refused to let her wrap her legs around him at night and how the pillow was a great substitute."

Sam was expecting Dean to make a joke, but he was too out of it to come up with anything. He gently lifted Dean's leg and slipped the pillow in between. "I guess it helps if you hug it. It straightens you out a bit, so your spine isn't compressed." He guided Dean's arm around the pink part, then spread a light blanket over his legs. "Get some sleep, Dean."

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If he'd hoped that Dean would feel better in the morning, his prayers were denied. By the next morning, Dean was completely inconsolable. There was no need to beg him to see a doctor, by that time, he was begging Sam to take him.

With a slightly shaking hand, he called up three doctors in the phone book and tried to get him in. Two of them had busy schedules and didn't take in new patients and one of them agreed.

Traveling was torture for them both. Sam had never seen Dean in so much pain. He was biting his knuckles to keep from screaming as the car was put into drive. Thankfully, the office was only ten minutes away; he was afraid that he'd have to knock his brother out before they got there. There were times when he wished that he would've.

They arrived at the doctor's office twenty minutes early and had to wait an hour before they were seen. Dean sat in the hard chairs, unable to move while Sam tried to distract him with magazine and newspaper articles.

Finally, when they were able to see the balding nasal physician; Dean's hope was quickly crushed. The man told them exactly what they already knew, only adding the fact that it was most likely stress related... and gave them the same treatment plan they both had already devised. It was horribly disappointing to Sam, and devastating to Dean.

Dean walked out of the doctor's office upset, "I can't believe that some people live their entire lives in this much pain. Doctors are sadists."

Sam sighed, "I'm sorry, Dean. If there's something that I could do..."

Dean closed his eyes, "Yeah, I know, Sammy. It's not your fault. Let's just get back to the motel. I've got to lie down, man."

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The next few days went by in a blur. Dean was incapacitated: the man couldn't do anything for himself that required the use of his hands, neck, or head, excluding using the toilet. Dean refused to let Sam in the room for that, not caring if he made a mess; "The maid'll clean it." He waved it off, Sam was only happy to let him.

It was a strange turn-around. Sam had never had to care for Dean in this way; never had to make him meals, dress him, or help him on and off the couch. He'd never seen him in pain like this before either; it was sprained neck! That was all, but the muscle spasms constantly contracting caused the severe pain. The muscle relaxants were slowly working in conjugation with the ibuprofen to cool the inflammation, but it wasn't working fast enough for either of them.

Dean was mean; he got angry and started mouthing off--swearing in every sentence. There were times that Sam couldn't take him, slamming the motel room door behind him as he angrily paced the parking lot. He was itching to drive off somewhere alone, but the sight of Dean sobbing, head in hands, through the motel room window stopped him. Dean tried to keep it from him-- going into the shower, waiting until he left the room; but, Sam knew. He knew from the dark eyes, puffy eyelids, and pale face.

So, for his brother, he stayed strong. If it kept Dean from falling apart, he could scream, yell, and punch him all he wanted.

They were also both bored-- there was only so much television Dean could watch. The older man wasn't known for staying in one spot for too long. Sam always though of his brother as the ADD poster-child. It only fueled the fire. His brother was on the path to complete explosion, and he didn't want to be around when it happened.

It was out of that selfish desire that Sam called the doctor again, begging the man for any other advice he could give. The man listened to his venting rants about his brother, told him that he needed to get him to relax. Keeping his body tense would only lengthen the healing process. Sam rolled his eyes; obviously, the doctor didn't know how annoying it could be to deal with his brother.

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It was a miracle that a few days later, Dean was finally able to move his arms. The swelling had gone down enough for him to be able to make small movements and turn his neck slightly. He didn't regain the full range of motion until nearly a week later.

His body was weakened; The muscles strained and tired. The explosion that Sam had feared sizzled down with his fatigue.

Dean refused to stay in the motel another night, forcing them back onto the road. Sam bit his lip when the drive was cut short only five hours later. He quietly checked them into another motel without a single complaint.

Sam watched as Dean sat stiffly on his bed; Sam could see the muscles in his neck tense. He was worried; he was worried that Dean would relapse. It was something the doctor and the website had both stressed.

"Dean, you've got to relax. You're going to re-aggravate the injury if you're not careful." Sam lectured.

Dean lifted his head to his brother, glaring at him. "Screw you, Sam."

Sam grit his teeth, "That's real mature, Dean. But, it doesn't change the fact that you're still tensing up." At that Sam became thoughtful, "Is something bothering you?"

"No." Dean grunted, "And we're not going to have a chick flick moment."

"Whatever, man. I'm just trying to help you." Sam shook his head. There was just no talking to his brother.

Dean stared at him. "You are, Sammy. You are helping me... I just don't have the need to talk about everything like you do."

"But if it's something that's stressing you out... maybe talking about it will help?"

For a moment, Sam though that he would, but then Dean started laughing. "Oh, Sammy. You're such a girl. I'm fine now. It was just the pillow, remember?"

"Yeah," Sam whispered, "I remember."

"Anyway, I've got five of them now." Dean pulled out his array of pillows. "You can use one, if you want. Except for the body pillow, that one is mine!"

Sam laughed, "Don't worry, Dean. The rainbow pillow is all yours, man." A thought flew to his mind, "At least until you run into a pregnant woman-- then she'll probably battle you for it."

Dean arched his eyebrow, "Dude, are you kidding? If she wants to wrap her legs around a body, I'll be happy to help the lady out." He said it with a wiggle of his eyebrows, a sly grin forming. "Pillow won't be necessary."

A grimace formed on Sam's face, "Urg, Dean. That's disgusting, even from you."

"What? Pregnant women have needs to!"

Sam clamped his hands over his ears; he wasn't listening_. He wasn't listening._

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